


A Snapping Spencer

by WrecklessImagine



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrecklessImagine/pseuds/WrecklessImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A weakened emotional moment for Spencer careens him on to a path that he never envisioned traveling with his co-worker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snap

Sitting at your desk, you lean your head up and cock your head off to the side.

_Pop!_

Groaning, you stretch your back out above your chair, your spine slowly clicking back in to place.

Letting out a relieving sigh, you crack your knuckles, your team mates now slowly looking up from their paperwork to eye you.

“Those are some serious air bubbles you got there, pretty lady,” Morgan says, a grin musing across his face.

“I assume you’re not talking about my tits,” you say, earning a shocked look from everyone and a hearty laugh from Derek.

Shaking your head and giggling, you dip your head back in to your paperwork, relieved when you realized you were flipping open your last file for the day.

“Praise,” you say, raising your hands into the air in mock praise as your elbows crack on the extension.

“Seriously!?” Spencer exclaims, slamming his pen down onto his desk. “Every hour and 12 minutes exactly you have popped every joint known to mankind in your body, and while everyone else may be just fine with the fact that it’s disgusting and noisy, not all of us are alright with the sound, nor the idea, of a creaking body! You know, just because joint cracking and arthritis were proven to not be related doesn’t mean that it doesn’t cause wear and tear to your joints. The forceful popping sounds that you make several times a day, which I assume you do every day…not just to annoy us when you’re here…can very possibly lead to unnecessary wear and tear on your ligaments and muscles associated with it.”

Your eyes widen as your jaw becomes slack, your face flushing red.

“I-I’m sorry, Reid,” you say, dipping your head back down in to your paperwork.

Looking at your watch a bit later, you realize that he is right.

One hour and 12 minutes on the dot.

Getting up slowly, keeping your head down, you slowly turn and venture off towards the bathroom, opening the door as you lift your head and feel the base of your neck groan along with you.

“Reid, are you serious?” Prentiss says, getting up and making her way to the women’s restroom.

“You don’t hear us complain when you hand us one of your nasty, chewed-up pens to write with,” Morgan sasses, his eyes drawn to the women’s bathroom. “But apparently, Y/L/N has to go to the bathroom in order to crack her knuckles.”

As Spencer sighs, Morgan mutters, “Maybe you should take your gross-ass pen-top-chewin’ nasty habit to the men’s room.”

Emerging from the bathroom, Prentiss’ hand on your lower back as she leads you carefully to your seat, you sit down and get back to your paperwork, writing quicker than you usually do so that you can get home before your next “snap, crackle, pop” session.

As silence permeates the room, you set your pen down and close your folder, stacking it on top of the others as you stand from your seat, your back straightening as you pick them up to take them to Hotch.

_Snap! Pop! Crack! Creeeeeeak!_

Your face flushing red, your jaw gapes at Spencer as he cringes, his eyes raising to you and softening as he sees your embarrassed reaction.

“I’m sorry, Reid,” you mutter, scurrying off up the steps as you knock on Hotch’s door, handing him your paperwork as he nods you off for the weekend.

Grabbing your go-bag, you shuffle over to the elevator as you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Y/L/N,” you hear his soft voice say.

“N-not a problem,” you stumble, trying to keep your composure.

Moving from the elevator, you point over to the stairs. “I’m just gonna take those.”

Walking towards the door, you feel a tug on your arm, causing you to turn around and meet eyes with Spencer.

“It was completely inappropriate, and I shouldn’t of taken my unnecessary stress out on you.”

“It’s ok. We all need this weekend. Could you…um…let Rossi know that I won’t be attending dinner Saturday night?”

As Spencer furrows his brow, his gaze shifts from sorrowful co-worker to profiler. “Sure. Um…why aren’t you going?”

“You’re a profiler, you figure it out,” you spit as you lean on the stairway door, opening it up as you start down the staircase, hearing the elevator doors ding just as the stairway door closed shut.


	2. One Year

You had assumed that Reid had been good on his word, because that evening you were bombarded with messages.

Why aren’t you coming? Rossi asked.

Girl, we miss you...Garcia had written.

Hot Stuff! It’s an excuse to get pretty! Morgan had enticed.

But the best one? Spencer’s message.

I really hope you’ll reconsider coming. I really am sorry.

Like you weren’t going because of him.

“Selfish,” you thought, tossing your phone over to the side as you primped your hair.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, with your mustard yellow cabled sweater, the over-sized collar gracing the bottom of your chin-length Y/C/H hair, and your yellow and white plaid stockings helping your feet to slip in nicely to your simple black flats.

You felt ready for tonight.

Grabbing your purse and slinging it over your shoulder, you grabbed your keys from the toss-bowl beside your door and slipped out of your flat, the smell of freshly baked bread hitting you on the way out.

You loved living over a bakery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I guess she’s really not coming,” Rossi says, taking the glass of wine he poured for you and funneled it back in to the bottle.

“Anyone know why?” Hotch looks around at his team, Rossi striking up his stove as he gets to preparing the meat for his next Italian dish.

“Maybe it’s because a certain someone was a douche,” Morgan mumbles into his glass, eyeing Spencer from the corner of his eye.

“Hey, I apologized!” he yelps, Prentiss looking in his direction.

“Yeah, well…what you didn’t know was that she closed herself in the bathroom stall, cracking her joints while sniffing.”

“She…was crying?” Spencer asks hesitantly, swirling his wine in his glass as a defeated look overcomes his face.

“I don’t know why you don’t like her,” Garcia pipes up. “I have these girl evenings with her, and she’s awesome. She has his witty sense of humor, and sometimes her references fly right over my head!”

“Sounds like fun,” J.J. jokes. “But really, I have had her over a couple of times for dinner, and she is great with Henry.”

“She’s met Henry?” Hotch asks.

“Oh yeah, she’s even babysat for me. Henry loves her,” J.J. brags. “I bet if you asked her to watch Jack, she would. I bet Jack would love her as well.”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Hotch ponders, taking another sip of his wine.

“Let’s not dwell on the negative,” Rossi says, coming over and plating everyone’s noodles, “She’s the one missing out on a wonderful family dinner,” he says, giving a wiry grin that tells how disappointed he is that you aren’t here.

“Yeah, forget about her,” Spencer mumbles, sighing as he turns to his plate.

Shaking his head, Morgan looks down at his plate, taking a deep breath before saying what everyone else was thinking.

“Something’s not right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking into the cathedral, you meander your way over to the stairs, taking your phone out and turning it off just before making your way down into the basement. Walking thru the dark corridor, a door to your left opens as a head pokes out of the dim light spilling into the hallway.

“There you are!” Polly screeches…which is exactly why you called her Polly.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late, my team is absolutely insane,” you say, wrapping her in a hug.

“Still haven’t told ‘em, huh?” she asks, eyeing you with curiosity.

“Not their business as long as I don’t backslide,” you say, giving her a smile.

“Well, today is a very important day, I figured you would’ve wanted someone to be here with you!” she squeals, taking you by the shoulders.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” you ask, giving her a light wink before she draws you in for another hug, leading you over to get some hot apple cider as the fall air begins to blow in through the open window.

“Everyone, sit down! We have an incredible speaker here with us tonight.”

As everyone takes their seats, you set your purse down on a chair behind the podium, not listening as Polly introduces you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think that we should figure out where she is?” Garcia asks hesitantly, setting her fork down as the entire team eats silently.

“That’s a complete invasion of privacy,” Prentiss warns. “If we do that to her now, she will never come to trust us as a team.”

“She’s been with us for 10 months!” Spencer squeals. “How much more time does she need?” he pouts, twirling his noodles on his fork but never actually taking a bite.

“She is a rough one,” Hotch muses, eyeing Rossi for some sort of help to reign this in.

“I think, as long as we don’t go looking after her, knowing where she is shouldn’t be an issue,” Rossi pipes up, clearly annoyed that you aren’t at his 10th family dinner that he has invited you to.

“I’m about to stop inviting her to these things anyway,” he says, getting up and reaching for his laptop.

“Garcia, do your thing,” he says, slamming it down in front of her.

“You guys…this isn’t a good idea,” she whines, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I mean, this is her Saturday night. She doesn’t have to spend it with us. What if she’s out on a hot date!?”

“Her!?” Spencer raises his eyebrows, “The man would have to be…drunk!”

As the team watches Garcia wince, Prentiss sighs and leans her head back, groaning at the option they currently have.

Tell them and betray your trust, or don’t tell them and risk the guys coming after you in anger.

“You know where she is,” Spencer says, eyeing between Emily and Garcia. “Tell us.”

“No,” Garcia states.

“Baby girl…we are worried about her,” Morgan muses, getting down into her ear.

“She is just fine, that’s all you need to know,” Prentiss says, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Settle down!” Hotch roars, catching everyone’s attention as he turns and looks Prentiss in the eye.

“Are you sure she is alright?” he asks.

“I promise,” she says, never wavering in her stare-down with her boss.

“Then that’s good enough for me,” he says.

“Well it’s not for me!” Spencer says, banging his hands on the table as he gets up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, it is a great pleasure, and honor, to welcome Miss Y/F/N Y/L/N!”

As everyone claps, you take the podium, your hands shaking as you lace your fingers and place them just behind the microphone staring at your lips.

“Hello. My name is Y/F/N, and I have been sober for 1 year…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Spencer yanks the laptop from Garcia’s lap, he bangs on the keys, trying to figure out how to trace your number.

“Reid, stop!” Garcia yells, trying to yank the laptop away from him.

“Spencer! This is enough!” Morgan growls, grabbing him by the waist as he picks him up in to the air. “This is why she can’t stand you!”

“She’s at her 1 year sobriety meeting!” Prentiss yells across the room.

As everyone falls in to silence, tears streaming down Penelope’s cheeks, Prentiss walks over and puts her hand on Garcia’s back, pulling her in for a hug.

“She’s at her weekly AA meeting getting her 1 year sobriety coin,” Garcia chokes out amidst her sobs.

“And I have never been more ashamed, or disappointed, to be amongst you guys.”

As the guys look back and forth at each other, tears springing into Rossi’s eyes, Emily takes Garcia’s hand as she says, “I think we have somewhere better to be,” walking out of the house and shutting the door behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I had the perfect upbringing,” you began. “A wonderful mother, a hard-working father, a nice middle-class two story home with a decent backyard that I always played in with our poodle named Rascal while my mother watched from the kitchen as she drank her coffee in the mornings. I loved that dog…”

As Polly looks up at you, a big smile across her face, you continue.

“School was alright. I made okay grades…I wasn’t a genius or anything. But high school was particularly rough. I took on weight as puberty hit, my hair was a mess, I had braces AND glasses, acne I couldn’t control, and a desperate need to fit in. I exercised to try and combat the weight, and as soon as I got my braces off I begged my mother for contacts.”

Hearing the door in the back open, you guide your gaze back to see Emily and Garcia walk in, smiling lightly as you nod to a couple of chairs in the front row.

You were secretly elated that they had chosen to come.

“But when I hit my junior year, I was invited to a party by one of the cute seniors. I had dropped 15 pounds, saved up my money from working in a grocery store part-time to buy all of the latest fashions, and I was incredibly excited to try my hand in make-up for my first ever party…”

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “…but when I got there, not understanding how make-up actually worked, I was the butt of all of the jokes swimming around the perimeter of the room. I heard phrases like ‘dime a dozen hooker’ and ‘blowfish’ and ‘bozo’…and I found that the drinks were enough to drop my shields and make light of myself as a joke.”

“Soon, I was invited to all the parties as the comedic relief. How outlandish my make-up could be started to be the highlight of the parties, and pretty soon everyone wanted a piece of ‘The Clown.’”

As your eyes start to water, you dip your head and take in a ragged breath, Prentiss and Garcia furrowing their brows as they were not familiar with this origin story. “There was one party that got incredibly out of control. Lots of drinks, lots of laughter, and lots of boys. And one in particular had caught my eye…”

Watching them close their eyes as tears started to fall, you couldn’t help but cry yourself, muddling your speech as you went along.

“…the last thing I remember was telling him my name. The next morning I woke up with my clothes, torn and in a corner, my legs scratched and burning, and blood between my legs on the sheets of the bed. I grabbed my stuff, got dressed, hauled ass out of the window to the backyard, and never looked back.”

Wiping your tears away, you continue. “I drank myself through college, and somehow managed to keep a decent enough GPA to even be considered for the police force, and eventually worked my way up to being readily competitive for a position in the FBI…all the while drinking my weekends away as if I had no life outside of work and the bottom of a bottle.”

“But when my now boss had called me one Wednesday afternoon to tell me that he wanted me to come in for a face to face interview a few months ago, I realized that if I was going to seriously consider this job-”

The door closing again caught your attention, and whipping your head up, you see the men of your team, plus J.J., strewn against the back wall, tears running down their cheeks.

“…in order to actually take this job, I couldn’t drink my weekend away. I needed to be sober. So, I decided that if the interview went well, I would quit. And if it didn’t go well, I’d treat myself to some high end tequila and a nice, clean gigolo.”

As Morgan’s eyebrows raise, he leans in to Rossi and mutters, “Gigolo? You think she was serious?”

Turning your gaze back towards Hotch, you continue your story to him. “Not only was Aaron Hotchner kind and intelligent, he was elated that I was considering the position, and when he shook my hand, I knew right then and there that I would get sober for this job. That I would get sober for him.”

As the entire audience sniffles and silences their sobs, you look to Rossi, whose shoulders are now shaking.

“I knew that I would get sober for them all.”

Stepping back from the podium, the audience rises to their feet and claps, whoops and hollers coming from Morgan as the girls wipe their tears away, stepping up on stage and standing on either side of you, taking your hands within theirs.

“It is with great pleasure,” Polly says as she adjusts the microphone, “That I present to Y/F/N her 1 year sobriety coin.”

As the claps start up again, you step up to the podium and take your coin, hugging Polly instead of shaking her hand.

“Thank you for everything,” you mutter in to her ear, causing her to grip you tighter around your neck.

And as the crowd continues to whoop and holler for your celebration, Spencer stands off in the corner, his hands to his face as he continues to sob into his palms, shaking his head and wondering how in the world he could have ever treated someone just like him as badly as he has treated you these past few months.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs to no one in particular. “I’m so very, very sorry…”


	3. First Try

Stepping off to the side as everyone swarms the refreshments, the girls come running up to you with tears in their eyes, throwing their arms around you as they sob on you shoulders.

“I had no idea,” Garcia sighs.

“You are incredible,” Emily coos.

Smiling as you thank them for coming, your gaze slowly drifts back to the back wall, the rest of the team lined up as the girls furrow their brows at your expression and turn around.

“Uh oh,” Garcia nervously muses.

“Y/N, I swear we didn’t-”

Holding up your hand as Emily getting nervous, you smile lightly as you say, “It’s alright. Now that it’s out in the open we can continue on with one less secret between all of us.”

Watching the girls audibly sigh their relief, you put your arms around their waists as you guide them towards the coffee and cookies, watching as the team pushes themselves off of the wall to meet you halfway.

“Y/N, I had no idea,” Rossi muses with his arms outstretched, bringing you in for a strong hug.

“What an accomplishment,” Hotch says, putting his hand in between your shoulders as he gives you a kind smile.

“You should be incredibly proud of that,” J.J. says, pointing to the coin squeezed tightly in your hand.

“I am,” you respond, a light smile playing on your lips as you catch Spencer out of the corner of your eye. “It’s not much, but come get some coffee and cookies,” you say, holding out your hand as you usher them to the refreshments.

“Girl, that story…”

Turning around, you take in Morgan’s physique, hi shoulders lightly slumped and his eyes red from unshed tears.

“I am sure you have a sponsor or something…but if you ever need anyone to talk to, I can’t say I understand, but I can always listen.”

“Thank you, Derek,” you smile kindly, his hand reaching for a styrofoam cup of coffee. Seeing Spencer still standing in the corner, you grab a cup and throw 4 packets of sugar in, stirring as you slowly meander over to where he is perched.

“Here you go,” you say, holding out the coffee cup as his eyes raise to meet yours.

Taken aback by his frail state and his reddened face, he slowly takes the cup from you, smiling weakly as he nods.

“Thank you,” he says meekly.

Standing there awkwardly, you turn to go, only to feel a hand place pressure on your forearm.

“I didn’t know…”

“Hmm?” you ask, turning back around to face him.

“I am so sorry. I-I didn’t know…” he trails off, taking a light sip of his coffee as his puppy dog eyes raise once again to meet yours.

“Not something I advertise,” you say, hoping that his sentiments would end there.

Feeling relief wash over you as he stops talking, you turn to go again, only to feel the same pressure.

“Spencer, what is it?” you huff, spinning around to meet his gaze again.

“I just wanted to let you know that…you know…if you ever need someone to talk to who, you know, understands…”

Furrowing your brow as you cock your head at him, he pauses his sentiment and says, “Dilaudid, 4 years sober.”

Your lips slowly forming an “O”, he continues. 

“If you ever feel yourself slip, o-or need someone who understands, I’m always here,” he sighs, finishing his sentiment as a light smile crosses his face.

“So long as it’s in between that 1 hour and 12 minute window, right?” you retort, your anger rising in your throat.

“Huh? W-what?” Spencer asks, stumbling over his words.

"Enjoy your coffee,” you say flatly, turning on your heels and walking away from him, leaving his defeated posture and puffy eyes in your wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke with a start to the sound of your cell phone. 

Groaning as you reach over, you flip it open and hold it to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“It’s Hotch. We have a case.” 

“I’ll see you in 30,” you respond. 

Throwing the covers back, you slip your nightgown down around your feet, kicking it off as you stumble in to the bathroom and fumble for the light.

Flipping it on, you shield your eyes from the incandescent bulb as your eyes slowly adjust, your face coming in to view in the mirror. 

Sighing, you reach for your concealer, your hand shaking some out into your palm as you dip your triangular sponge in the middle, bringing it to your face as you stop to take in your scar. 

The lengthy scar that spanned from the top left corner of your forehead all the way down to the right lower corner of your jaw. 

Pushing the triangle to your face, gliding it across your skin as the thick substance slowly layers on to cover your basic reminder, you finalize your last strokes as you slap on some powder, sealing it on to your skin as you walk out and throw clothes over your body. 

Reaching for your go-bag, you raise back up and head for your door, reaching for your keys and setting your alarm as you take one last look at your reflection in the mirror, your hand shaking as you reach for the sobriety coin that you had tossed into your catch-all bowl when you had arrived home. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t proud, and it wasn’t that you had lied with your story earlier that evening. 

You had just…skipped the worst of it. 

After all, the incident neither started your drinking nor fueled it. 

It just…made sobriety harder. 

That’s all. 

Sighing once more as you open your front door, you close it behind you as you hear your alarm arm itself, locking the door as you hear a familiar voice behind you. 

“Hey there.” 

Jumping as you yelp, your body whipping around, you are met with Spencer’s face. 

His haggard, sleepless face. 

“Reid…what the-” 

“Here,” he says, taking strides toward you and placing a large cup of coffee in your hand. 

Looking blankly from the coffee back to him, he flashes you his nervously crooked smile as he says, “Paying you back for earlier this evening.” 

“Uh huh,” you retort, holding the coffee cup up and twisting it around, your brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Well, we should probably get to the office,” he says, turning towards your car.

Did he take a cab? 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, stopping him in his tracks as you hear him take a deep breath. 

“I haven’t had anyone besides my sponsor who understands. You know…who gets it,” he says, slowly turning around to face you, 

“And I wanted to tell you that…that the episode I had with you cracking your joints was…was because I…I was…” 

“…struggling,” you finish, the realization dawning on you as his facial expression confirms your accurate guess. 

Standing in your driveway, the nighttime sky blanketing your bodies, you unlock your car as you start around to the driver’s side. 

“We should definitely be getting in to the office.”


	4. The Past

Walking in to work, side by side with Spencer, the team eyes you curiously as you the two of you down your coffees as you sit in the meeting room, a folder being slapped in front of you both.

“We are 10 hours into an abduction,” Garcia says, hustling in front of us to start her slide-show.

Skimming through the packet, taking in all of the information, you feel the tightness in your back start to build.

“Any enemies of the parents? They aren’t of any importance,” Spencer asks.

“What about bullies at school?” Morgan throws out.

“Why are we getting this only 10 hours in?” Rossi throws back.

Your head whirling as you slowly scoot your chair back, you turn your body and walk out the door, Hotch calling after you as you venture towards the steps.

“Y/L/N, wha-”

Crack!

Pop!

Crack crack!

Pop!

Ratatatatatat!

Groaning as your eyes flutter closed momentarily, you take a deep breath and sigh as you open your eyes and look at Hotch.

“If the parents aren’t of importance, and they have no common enemies, and there’s been no ransom demand…then there’s only one other option,” you say, straightening yourself up as Spencer appears behind Hotch, his brow furrowed in sadness seeing you stand in the corner.

“Human trafficking,” Rossi yells from the room.

“Reid, Prentiss, the two of you go talk with the family. Rossi, Morgan, and Y/L/N, come with me to the site where the girls were last seen,” Hotch rattles off, prancing down the stairs as you follow closely behind him.

“Looks like your coffee didn’t quite work,” Prentiss says, eyeing Spencer out of the corner of her eye as she crosses her arms, taking in Spencer’s defeated stance.

“What am I going to do?” he says sheepishly, his sleepless-darkened eyes finding Prentiss’s gaze as her face softens.“I don’t know,” she says, putting her hands on Spencer’s shoulders. “Just…be there, I suppose. Eventually she’ll come around.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking a look around at the crime scene, you look up and eye the camera that Garcia had found that gave the team the footage of the abduction.

Looking around as Hotch and Morgan scale the alleyways, you take your phone from your pocket and hit your speed dial.

“Give your sacrifice to the Oracle of Knowledge,” Garcia says as she answers the call.

“I owe you a bottle of sparkling grape juice,” you say, a giggle emanating from the other end of the line.

“What’s up, chica?” Garcia asks.

“There is another camera on this street. Across the block, attached high up on a phone poll. Can you see if it has anything?”

“Sure, gimme ooooone sec…” she draws out.“Y/L/N! We found something!” Morgan yells out.

“Got the footage,” Garcia says.

“Alright, look thru it and call me or Hotch if you find anything worth talking about,” you say, closing your phone as you trot over to Morgan.“What’s up?” you ask.

“Look,” he says, putting his hand on the small of your back as he ushers you over to a dumpster.As Hotch looks up at you, concern in his eyes, you walk over beside him and stare down at the ground.

Feeling your eyes widen as your knees begin to tremble, you feel your phone begin to vibrate.

Not moving a muscle, Morgan reaches over and pulls your phone from your pocket, opening it up to Garcia’s voice squealing on the other end.

“Y/N! Y/N! Oh, my god, put me on speaker!”

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan says as he presses the speaker button.

“Oh, h-hello…wait, did I dial you? I thought I dialed Y/N,” she inquires.

“Just talk beautiful. What’s going on?”

“Y/N found another camera across the street, so I accessed it and pulled its footage from 12 hours ago.”

“What have you got?” Rossi says, your body wavering as you continue to stare at the ground.

“You have a witness. There was another girl in the alley that got away. She hid behind the dumpster before the guys got to her, and instead of going after her they just…left her behind,” Garcia rambles.

“In the video, was the girl doing anything in particular after the abduction happened?” you finally speak up.

“Yes, h-how…? You know what, never mind. Look in that alley…it was almost as if she was writing something on the ground.”

“Any way the footage is clear enough to get a facial recognition?” Hotch asks.

“I can try, boss, but no guarantees,” Garcia says.

“Alright, thanks baby girl,” Morgan says before hanging up the phone call.

“Any idea who could have written this?” Hotch asks you lowly, his hand in between your shoulder blades.

Feeling the tears trickle down your cheeks, you shake your head as you slowly start to come back to reality.

“There are a few ideas, depending on what Garcia can pull, and what Reid and Prentiss find out from the parents,” you say flatly.

“Well, lets take some pictures and meet them back at HQ,” Rossi says, taking the camera from your hands as he starts to take pictures of the alley.

Walking beside Hotch back to the car, Morgan staying behind with Rossi to call and update the rest of the team, the two of you walk in silence as you slowly open the passenger-side car door and climb in.

Leaning your head back into the seat, you pick it up and slam it back into the cushion, over and over and over again until Hotch takes your hand and squeezes it.

“Who has access to your social security number?” Hotch inquires.

Chuckling lightly, you lob your head over and look him in the eyes.

“That’s not my social security number. Well, it is, but it’s written backwards,” you groan, bringing your hands to your face as you rub deeply at your eyes.

“Does that mean anything to you?” Hotch asks, his worried expression taking over his stern face.

“Oh, Hotch…” you lull, chuckling absent-mindlessly as you take a deep breath and sigh, “It means the world to me.”


	5. Tired

Riding back to the station with everyone in tow, you lob your head over to the window, feeling it bounce against the glass with every pothole and rock you guys hit along the way. Hotch kept shooting you concerned glances, attempting to digest the story you had just given them.

Sighing as the car grinds to a halt, you slowly step out, the rest of the team running out the doors as they stare at you expectantly.

“Hotch said you know what’s going on,” Prentiss says, her expression pleading.

As you cast a dazed look over to Hotch, your breath picking up as you feel the tears in your eyes cascading down your cheeks, you slowly look back over to Spencer and say, “Did any of you ever, as a kid, come up with your own code to talk in?”

As J.J. gives Prentiss a worried expression, Spencer says, “You mean like the notes you pass in class with a cipher type of deal?”

“Yeah, yeah…those. You know, sometimes you use numbers to spell out words or the letters you write actually mean another one…a-a-and it’s all dependent on that cipher.”

“So there’s a cipher?” Prentiss asks.

“No…” you trail off.

“No no no no no no no,” you keep repeating, shaking your head violently as you stumble back towards the car, banging the back of your head into it repeatedly as Morgan scrambles to you, putting his hand behind your head and forcing you to stop.

“Y/N,” Rossi says, getting down on your level and taking your face in his hands, “You gotta focus, sweetheart. Tell us what’s happening.”

“He’s back,” you whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks as you slowly lift up your shirt, exposing the scar that spans from your belly button all the way up between your breasts.

As the team stares, Morgan takes your hand in his and slowly lowers your hand, Rossi reaching over and tucking your shirt back in between your stomach and your legs.

“Who’s back,” Spencer whispers, wiggling in and leaning his forehead in to yours, his chest supporting itself on your knees.

“The Butcher. The Butcher is back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting at a table in the police station, with the chief and his associates facing you, you take a long drink of water before starting in on your story.

“The Butcher was a man that was hunted for quite some time, and he took little boys and girls from around the neighborhoods in my area and he would kidnap them in his van, take them back to his basement, and administer an epidural as he opened up their torsos and poked around. For some he would sew them back up and keep them around, some he would place an item of importance inside and send them to the hospital, and others he would allow the epidural to wear off, watching them as they fought pain before their bodies eventually caved in. Those bodies he discarded into the sewer system on the other side of the city.”

“Yeah…? We know,” the chief says as Hotch shoots him a nasty look.

“So, we’re looking for a copycat,” one of the associates looks up.

“No,” you say, choking back sobs as you recall your social scrawled on the ground backwards, “You’re looking for the man you didn’t capture.”

As the entire room looks upon you in silence and confusion, the chief finally asks the question.

“How do you know we didn’t catch the right guy? This was…what…19 years ago?”

“Because some of us that survived,” you raise up your shirt for the room to see, “actually survived enough to live a fairly normal existence. Well, for the most part,” you roll your eyes.

“I know this is the real deal because we have a witness in the alleyway, and that witness scrawled my social security number backwards on the ground before scurrying off.”

You knew you weren’t making any sense, and you started groaning as you put your head in your hands, your mind whirling with the possibilities as Rossi steps in and takes the reigns, putting his hands on your shoulders and squeezing repeatedly.

“The children that he kept had developed a language, a way to pass notes and communicate without The Butcher being able to decipher what it was should he have found the notes,” Rossi says.

“That code was a series of numbers, and each letter corresponded with a letter in the alphabet,” Hotch steps in.

“But it wasn’t just the number to the letter,” Spencer continues, “Once the letters were spelled out, you had to flip the word in order to get it. For example, the world ‘the’ would have been notated ‘5 8 20,’ 5=e, 8=h, and t=20. Write those letters out and flip the word, and there you go.”

“And these kids…they memorized this?” the chief says, his eyes wide with horror and amazement.

“Our bodies and minds are capable of incredible things when the only purpose is survival,” you mumble from your hands, covering your reddening face as you listen to everyone talk around you.

Listening as Prentiss and J.J. step forward to give the newly updated profile, their voices fade in to the background as you rack your brain about who the person in the alleyway could have been.

Jumping to your feet and interrupting their profile, you wave them on to continue as you run over and out the door, stopping in the hallway as you stumble for your phone.

“Y/N, is everythi-”

Holding up your hand as your phone rings, you start rambling before Garcia can answer.

“Gary Selving, Andrea Hastings, Michael Harbor, and Tori Landry,” you spew out.

“Alright, what do I do with them?” Garcia asks as she types away.

“Figure out if any of them are alive, have gotten married, have had kids…”

As Spencer’s eyes widen in realization, he urges you to put her on speaker-phone as she continues to work those magic fingers of hers.

“Alright. All of them have gotten married, one is divorced, all have children,” she says.

“Any of them live in the area?” you ask.

“Yyyyyyyes,” she drags out as her eyes scan her screen, “Andrea Hastings, now Andrea Watts, lives 10 miles outside of the city and has three children. What are you thinking, love?”

“Our lives changed that night, and survival became the number one thing. If you were subjected to that, and you went on to have children, what would you teach them to do around their pre-pubescent years?”

And as you hear a bout of silence on the other end of the phone, you feel your phone vibrate in your hand as you look at the pop-up scroll at the top of the screen, an address scrolling thru the top of the phone sitting in your hand.

“And just to be sure we’re on the same page? I’d teach my children how to fight for their lives,” Garcia says before hanging up the phone.

Looking slowly over at Spencer, your eyes tired and dazed as he smiles at you weakly, he turns his head, his gangling body following, as he yells for Hotch down the hallway.

“Hotch! We have an address for our witness!”


	6. Different

Much to everyone else’s opinions, you rode with Hotch and Spencer to the address, feeling more anxious than you should to see Andrea again.

Arriving at her home, you leap out of the car before Hotch can pull into the driveway, stumbling up the lawn as you bound up the front steps, two-by-two, knocking furiously on her door as you arrive at the top.

Whipping the door open, you are met with a war-torn pair of eyes.

Those same blue eyes that you remember from that night.

“Andrea,” you say breathlessly, embracing her in a wild embrace as she tugs you in to the house.

“Where is my daughter?” she asks, her voice shaking as she urges you to sit down.

You didn’t even realize Hotch and Spencer had come in after you.

“Andrea. You need to talk to me. You need to take deep breaths, and calm down.”

Nodding her head vigorously, Hotch clears his throat as you shoot him a dirty look.

“Mrs. Watts, who was your daughter out with last night?” Hotch asks, eyeing her curiously as her brow furrows.

“S-she was with her best friend, Sierra Monover. Why? What’s happened?”

“We believe your daughter was the target of an abduction, but instead of grabbing her, they grabbed Sierra instead.”

“Oh my god,” Angela exclaims, tears rushing down her face as she puts her face in her hands.

“I-I-I’ve got to call Sierra’s mom. She’s been so worried,” she says, clamoring from her seat as you take her wrist.

“I’ll have someone call her. You need to sit,” you urge.

“Y/N, talk to me,” she says, taking your hands within hers and squeezing them. “What has happened?”

“Where does your daughter feel safest?” you ask.

“W-what do you mean?” Angela asks.

“Angela. You told her about what happened to us, didn’t you?”

As Angela gives you a blank stare, you continue with your questions.

“It’s alright if you did. She wrote my social security number backwards on the pavement in the alley she rushed in to when the van pulled up,” you say.

“The van…” Angela trails off.

“Angela,” you say, squeezing her hands as you watch her gaze trail off.

“I-I-It’s…it’s him. It’s him, isn’t it?” she asks breathlessly, her sobs choking her voice from her throat as you lean your forehead in to hers.

“Mrs. Watts, where does your daughter feel safest?” Spencer urges, dipping down and putting his hand on her shoulder.

Slowly lobbing her gaze over to Spencer, her eyes dead and her hands limp, she takes a shallow breath before the tears pour in gallons down her face.

“The only…p-p-place I can’t think of i-is…uh…is the gym we belong to,” she stammers.

“And where would that be?” Hotch asks, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“A few blocks away from here, on the corner of Turk and Aberdeen. It’s called ‘Watts In Your Body?’” she says blankly.

“Good for you,” you say, squeezing her hands as you bend in and kiss her forehead lightly.

Getting up and barreling towards the front door, you hear Hotch call out behind you.

“I think it would be best if you stayed here with Andrea.”

“Hotch, I will hot-wire that car if it gets it out of this driveway,” you spit, turning your head back and shooting him a stern glance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were infuriated with Hotch.

He insisted that Rossi and Morgan go and collect Andrea’s daughter, and you were furious that he didn’t trust you with this.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he says as you all head back to the police station, “It’s that you don’t understand how emotionally compromised you are right now.”

“Charged,” you say.

As you see Hotch furrow his brow at you, you look over at him and say, “I’m emotionally charged. As of right now, the only reason you have gotten this far is because of me and my ‘emotionally-compromised state’.”

“Y/N, Hotch is just trying to keep you safe…keep all of us safe,” Spencer says, bringing his hand around to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

“Plug your ears,” you say.

“What?” Spencer asks.

“Plug your ears,” you repeat again as you bring your knuckles to the palm of your hand.

Cracking your knuckles, you do one hand, and then the other. Migrating to your neck, you tilt it to one side, hearing the ricochet of cracks before cocking it off to the other side.

Sighing a deep sigh, you look at Spencer in your pull-down mirror and say, “You didn’t plug your ears.”

“No need to,” he says, staring at you in the mirror as you flip it up quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We have her,” you hear Morgan say over Hotch’s phone.

“Was she at the gym? Is she alright!?” you ask, flying out of your seat as you throw yourself at Hotch.

“Tell Y/L/N that she’s fine. She’s coming in with us now to tell us what happened.”

“Perfect, see you soon,” Hotch responds before hanging up, your hand outstretched for his phone.

“Why did you hang up!?” you ask incredulously, your eyes wild as you look up at your boss.

“Because I am still the lead on this case, whether you realize that or not, and that was not your phone call,” he says sternly.

“That most certainly was a phone call for me!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

“Y/N…” Spencer says nervously, his hand tentatively reaching for your arm as you curl away from him.

“This has nothing to do with you,” you spit.

Picking up your phone, you start to dial on your keypad, bringing it to your ear as the phone begins to ring.

_Ring ring. Ring ring._

“Come oooon,” you mutter, shuffling from foot to foot.

Hearing the end of the line pick up, you hear nothing but the sound a heavy breathing.

Furrowing your brow, you reach your hand out and wave it at Hotch and Spencer, putting the call on speaker-phone as you lay it out in the palm of your hand.

“I wanted mother and daughter, but I can settle for mother and daughter’s friend,” the ragged voice says on the other end.

Feeling the hair stand up on your arms, you watch as Spencer judges your every reaction, ushering someone over with a laptop as they set up a recording system to record the call.

“What do you want?” Hotch asks, your voice caught in your throat.

“Her,” he breathes as your eyes involuntarily water with tears.

“Her who?” Hotch asks, trying to keep in on the line.

“6 minutes out,” the police chief mouths.

“The one with the different eyes. I always loved those exotic eyes.”

Watching Hotch furrow his brow, your jaw begins to quiver as the tears rumble down your face.

“And why do you like those eyes?” Hotch asks, trying to keep him on the line.

“I dream about those eyes,” he growls.

Bringing your fingers up to your stomach, mindlessly fingering your scar above your shirt, he chuckles lowly before saying one last thing.

“Give me her and you can have them all.”

As the line goes dead, Hotch looks to the chief of police who is shaking his head.

“They’re at the house. No one is there,” he says.

“H-H-how…?”

“We’ll let Garcia figure that out,” Hotch says, turning to you.

“Now do you see why I’m the lead on this case?”

His voice was much softer now.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, your fingers reaching for your eyes as you bend your head down and remove your contacts.

“Which one of his victims has different colored eyes?” Spencer says incredulously, his brow furrowed in utter confusion.

“Me,” you say, lifting your head to reveal your deep blue eyes speckled with yellow dots.

“I have different colored eyes.”


	7. Got Her

“No.”

You look over at Spencer, his shoulders back and his lips taut.

“It’s not your decision,” you counter.

“No,” he says again.

“Well, it’s not your decision either,” Hotch says.

“Thank you,” Spencer acknowledges over to his boss.

“But it’s our best bet,” Hotch eyes Spencer carefully.

“No!” he yells, taking a step towards you.

“Y/N, you can’t do this,” Spencer says, reaching out and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Well according to you, I can’t do much of anything nowadays,” you retort.

“I don’t give a damn about your joint-cracking!” Spencer yells, his eyes wide and his face close.

Standing there, feeling his breath on your face, you take a step back as your eyes start to water.

“I’m going after them,” you whisper, Spencer’s body collapsing defeatedly in a chair behind him as Hotch nods lightly.

“How do we do this?” he asks you.

“Oh, now you want my opinion,” you snap.

As Spencer’s gaze slowly lifts to you, he recognizes that tone of voice.

That tone of voice that he had taken with so many of his co-workers in his Dilaudid days.

Slinking out of his chair as the two of you try to come up with a plan, Spencer takes out his phone and calls Garcia.

“Welcome to the Google of the BAU. I am your host, feed me your request.”

Chuckling, Spencer says, “It’s me, Garcia.”

“What can I do for you, honey?” she asks.

“Can you pull up Y/L/N’s expenses for the past few days?”

“Not…really…? Without a damn good reason…?” he says.

“I’m afraid she is craving, and I want to make sure she hasn’t…”

“That’s a pretty good reason,” Garcia says, typing away in the background as your expenses and bank accounts pop up.

“Whoa,” she says.

“What? What is it!?” Spencer exclaims in her ear.

“Nothing. Nothing in here suggests any money removed or any “visits” to any places for alcohol, but the girl…is…looooooaded.”

As Spencer’s brow furrows, he hears Garcia still typing in the background.

“Garcia?” Spencer asks.

“Yes, honey,” she says.

“Keep tabs on her acfount. I don’t care where her money comes from. I only care if she walks into an ABC store,” Spencer says, his voice full of hurt and worry.

“I’ll let you know as soon as something fishy happens,” she says, her mind elsewhere as she pokes around in your accounts.

“Garcia…” Spencer warns.

“Alright, alright. Closing out now,” she says, clicking windows shut and erasing information.

“And remember, anything fishy,” Spencer says, turning back to you with a worried glance as Hotch courts you off in to a room, seemingly ready to begin the process of dangling you as bait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a very cryptic phone call and an address being mailed to the post office, you hop in your car, sans weapons, and type the address into the car GPS.

Following the directions, you pull up to an abandoned house straight off of the highway, slowly pulling your cell phone out of your pants and sticking it into the car glove box, switched on with the location blaring at the top.

Getting out of the car, you hold your hands up as you walk to the porch, the old wooden door creaking open before you ascend the steps.

“There are grave consequences if you aren’t alone.”

That voice.

Swallowing hard, you squeak out, “I’m alone. Don’t worry.”

Walking slowly up the steps, a hand darts out of the darkness and rips you in to the house.

Stumbling into a side table, trying to catch yourself in these heels, you whip around as a body presses itself against you.

“They’ve been struggling for quite some time,” he lulls, his smoke-ridden breath on your neck as you turn your head away, straining to hear any signs of struggling.

Met with silence, you feel his hand slip down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers slowly drifting up your skin, feeling for the scar he had inflicted so very long ago.

“You know, you were the only child who had this scar who survived,” he breathes.

Feeling your jaw begin to tremble, he wrenches you by your arm, throwing you down the hallway as you knock into a chair.

Trying to stand up, he presses himself behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing you up, your feet off of the floor, as he throws you over the back of the chair, plummeting onto the coffee table.

“Such strength,” he enunciates.

Struggling to get up from the floor, you hear the faintest of voices.

“Help!”

As tears trickle down your face, you whirl around, slowly standing to your feet as your body stands crooked in front of him.

“You can do anything you want…anything you wish. You can slice me open, dice me up, use me as your servant, or kill me if you please. But you have me. So it’s time to let them go.”

“And how will they ever get away?” he asks, walking towards you as he cocks his head.

“The car outside. They can drive and drive until they are as far away as they please. And then I have no way to escape.”

As he ponders this deal…the deal that he set in motion…you lean forward as press your lips into his ear.

“At. All.”

Watching him slowly back away, he dips behind an obstruction and removes some duct tape, motioning you to sit in a chair as he begins to tape your arms and legs down.

As tears stream down your face, he looks at you as he leans in and slowly kisses your forehead.

“You are going to be perfect,” he murmurs as he walks off, leaving you alone in the darkened room, with nothing but your thoughts to consume you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have the girls!” Garcia exclaims, “I have them on camera. Passing an ATM in Douglas headed towards Manomanto,” she says.

Nodding to Morgan, he and Rossi dart out the door, heading to an SUV to go intercept the mother and daughter duo.

“But no Y/N…” Spencer mumbles.

“I-I’m…sorry,” Garcia stutters.

After a brief pause, Spencer sighs and Garcia attempts to calm him down.

“She’ll be ok,” Garcia coos on the screen, “She’s a tough ol’ broad.”

Nodding slowly, his eyes filling with tears, Spencer feels a hand on his shoulder as he squeezes lightly.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Prentiss asks, eyeing him as Garcia listens from her station on the video-call.

“I mean, we all do,” he chokes out.

“No,” Prentiss says more stern, “I mean…you care for her.”

Sighing as he dips his head in his hands, he shakes his head as he tries to hold back the tars.

“I don’t think I even realized it until her AA meeting that we crashed,” he breathes.

Feeling Prentiss rub his back, Spencer embraces her quickly and tightly in a massive hug, the tears flowing onto her shoulder as Emily shushes him in his ear, trying to get him to calm down.

“You should tell her,” she says, “You know, when this is all over.”

“She hates me,” Spencer says, sniffing as he pulls back.

“She’s hurt, but she doesn’t hate you,” Prentiss says.

“I don’t even know where to begin to fix things,” he counters.

“Did you tell her the reason behind your snapping episode with her?”

“Yeah…” he drifts off.

“Then when we find her, and we will, you need to run up to her, wrap her in the biggest hug she can imagine, and hang on…no matter how much she pushes or yells or hits…you need to hold steady. She’s been through a lot, and she’s been alone through all of it. She needs to know that she no longer is.”

And as Spencer wipes his nose, sniffling one more time before wiping the tears from his cheeks, Hotch rushes into the room as he wiggles into his bullet-proof vest.

“We have the mother and daughter…and we know where Y/N is.”


	8. Chapter 8

I can most certainly do this! Here is Part 8, comin’ ‘atcha!

(Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10)

 

Speeding down the highway, careening off onto an exit, Spencer yells at Morgan to go faster.

“The pedal is all the way down, Reid,” he growls, shooting him a look, “Just sit back. We are only 10 minutes out.”

“She may not have 10 minutes, Morgan!” he yells as Hotch reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

“Take a deep breath, Reid. If you want me to let you go in after her, you have to keep a cool head,” he says.

“Fine,” he says, lumping back into his seat and taking deep breaths in, eyeing the clock anxiously as he ticks down the seconds in his head.

Just 10 minutes, Y/N…just buy us 10 minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Happy?” he asks, sitting on the couch as you start to bounce your legs.

You had to go to the bathroom so badly.

“Sure,” you mumble, your eyes watering as the pain in your bladder grows.

“Don’t worry, just go to the bathroom, Y/N…I’ll clean you up,” he says, cocking his head at you as he stares as the bottom of the chair.

“Never,” you whimper.

Continuing to jiggle your leg, the splinters of the chair digging themselves into your calves, you wince as the pain grows.

Giving in, you stop wiggling your legs, shards of wood poking out of the back of your legs as tears start the drip down your face.

“There, there,” he says, bringing his knuckles forward and wiping your tears away, “Those eyes are too pretty to sweat.”

Whimpering as you start to rock back and forth, he scoots to the edge of the couch and leans his face to yours, his disgusting breath emanating from his yellow teeth making your nose crinkle as you attempt to rear your face back.

“You will move only when I say you can!” he roars, standing up and cracking his hand against your jaw.

Flying backwards, your wrists crashing to the ground as you tip yourself to the side, desperate not to dislocate them, you groan as a searing pain in your shoulder ricochets through to your sternum as you feel a hot, wet trail run down the backside of your leg.

“There you go,” he coos, tilting your chair back up after your urine is done puddling at your side, “Now, don’t you feel better?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Morgan dodges the lights, his sirens blaring as the two other SUV’s follow suit, Spencer begins to clench his pants within his fists as Hotch bellows above the roaring of the sirens.

“Up here on the left, take the unmarked pathway.”

Looking back at Hotch, he nods lightly to Spencer.

“Oh thank god,” he murmurs as he starts checking his weapon and his vest, ready to jump out the second Morgan stops the car.

Watching the horizon as a house comes in to view, Morgan shuts his sirens and his lights off, the other two cars following suit, as they slow down to approach the house, stopping about 3 blocks shy.

“What are you doing!?” Spencer harshly whispers.

“If we spook this guy and he runs with Y/N, we’ll never catch him,” Morgan says, whirling around and sticking his finger in Spencer’s face, “We care about her just as much as you do, and I’m not going to fuck this up because you’re anxious to get in there and prove you’re a man.”

“Shut the hell up, Morgan. I want to get her because I love her!”

Pausing at his words, he shoots his eyes back at Hotch, finding Hotch already boring a hole in to his head as he opens his door and steps out.

“We can address this later,” he says, opening Spencer’s door and ushering him out.

“Right now, Y/N’s inside with the only man on the planet that wants her dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“See? I told you I would clean you up.”

Feeling him lower you in to the bathtub, the water hot to the touch, your eyes water as tears stream down your face.

Finding the strength to lob your head over, drool spilling over onto your cheek, he looks at you with pitiful eyes as he props you up, holding on to your neck tightly to keep you from going underwater as he searches for a washcloth.

“We need to get this urine off of you,” he says coolly as he squirts the soap onto the washcloth, “You can’t stay in your own filth, you know. A proper woman must be clean at all times for her husband.”

Husband?

You had prepared for a beating, and you had prepared for a fight…you had even prepared for your death.

What you had not prepared for was being drugged with a paralytic so that he could undress and bathe you after forcing you to urinate on yourself.

“I could take better care of you than that ol’ team of yours,” he says whimsically, brushing the washcloth over your breasts as he lathers the soap in a circular motion, “I mean, that Spencer…ho man…he does not like you at all.”

Looking up at him, your eyes wide as you attempt to move your jaw to say something, all that happens is that your tongue falls heavy to the bottom of your mouth, a light moan escaping your lips as you try to call out for help.

“Oh? Do you like that?” he says, continuing to draw circles with the washcloth on your stomach, “I thought you would. I knew you missed my touch.”

Trying with all of your might to move, you couldn’t. The paralytic had seeped into every fiber of your being, and the only thing you could do was drool, cry…

And…apparently…excrete waste.

Watching as the water slowly turns brown, you see the anger growing in the man’s eyes as he grabs you by your hair, yanking you out onto the floor as your neck flies in multiple directions, your head landing solidly with the tiled floor as he kicks you in the stomach.

“You disgusting creature! You can’t even hold your bowel movements!”

Crying onto the floor as you feel him haphazardly drape a towel over you, he murmurs how disgusting your body is as he drains the tub, walking away and muttering something about bleaching the tub.

Laying there on the floor, your gaze turned out towards the hallway, you feel your tears piling onto the floor, your nose breathing them back in as you attempt to not only quell your tears, but breath out of your mouth, as you hear the most miraculous words you had ever heard in your life.

“FBI! Drop the bleach and get on your knees!”

Spencer.

Oh, dear God…it was Spencer.

Trying to desperately to move your hands, you find that the only thing that you can wiggle is your toes.

That’s a start.

Focusing on your feet, you try to move more and more of your foot, desperate to find any way to push just your head out in to the hallway.

“Where is she!?” you hear Spencer yell.

Moaning as loud as you can, you hear a pause before an incredible crash.

As your eyes widen, you hear Hotch grunt as another crash happens.

He’s killing my team.

Moaning louder and louder, your grunts turning in to groans that finally switch over to yelps.

“Down here!” you hear Morgan yell.

Continuing to grunt and yelp, desperate for them to follow your voice, you see a pair of shoes round the corner.

“Oh, my god…H-Hotch! Hoooootch!”

As Morgan bends down and flips your body over, your spittle covering your cheeks as your red and puffy eyes glaze over as you look up at him, he pats you down with the towel, keeping great care to not reveal too much of your body, before wrapping you in another one that was off to the side before picking you up in his arms.

“Hotch! She’s paralyzed!”

“We need a medic!” you hear Hotch yell before more steps barrel down the hallway.

“She’s paralyzed!? Morgan, where are you!?”

Spencer again.

Hearing someone round the corner, you lob your head off to the side, your limbs hanging limply as he comes and cradles your head, holding your neck straight out as his other hand finds the back of your head.

“Oh, Y/N…” he says as tears spring to his eyes.

“We gotta move her gingerly, alright?” Morgan says, catching Spencer’s gaze before returning back to yours.

“You’re gonna be alright, ok?” Spencer reassures you, tears pouring down his own cheeks as he dips down lowly and kisses your forehead.

He…he kissed me.

And as tears of joy run helplessly down your cheeks, you find yourself careening down the hallway before being up on to a gurney, Hotch looking down at you as he asks, “Did he inject you with something?”

“We can figure that out later,” the medic says, “Right now, we need to know if this bruising is topical, or if there is something underneath.”

“I’m going with her,” Spencer declares, taking off his vest as he shoves it towards Hotch.

Lobbing your head towards him, your eyes wide and your breath shallow, he rubs his hands on your head as he dips down low and smiles weakly at you.

“I can be in a hospital without craving,” he says.

How does he know what I’m thinking?

“Let’s go,” he says to the medic, raising his head as he walks by your gurney as you are wheeled out for the rest of the team to see, with only a towel covering your body and the sounds of the nighttime to soothe you back to reality.


	9. Fall Back

Coming to in the hospital was a nightmare. You already had tears streaming down your cheeks, even before you had the strength to open your eyes.

“Y/N?” you hear Spencer say.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” he says again.

Nodding as a pain ricochets up your neck, he sees you wince as he calls out for a nurse.

“Nurse! Someone! She’s awake!”

As you hear footsteps slamming into the floor, the headache surges through your body as people start to poke and prod.

As you feel someone pry your eye open, shining a light in to you, you bring your arm around, knocking the light out of their hand as you lean over into Spencer’s lap and heave.

“Well, the paralytic wore off,” the doctor behind you says.

“She has a migraine,” the nurse states.

“Let’s give her something for it…I’m sure she’s got a concussion,” another person says.

“Spenc-”

Heaving onto his lap, tears streaming down your cheeks as your face turns red, you feel him run his fingers through your hair as he encourages you to keep going.

“It’s alright, there’s a shower and I have my go-bag…just keep going,” he murmurs.

Finally heaving the rest of your dinner that you were force-fed on to his lap, you lean up, excess vomit still dripping down your face as you apologize over and over again.

Watching as he brings a washcloth to your face, wiping your face and swiping inside your mouth, he reaches over and cracks open a miniature mouthwash, holding it to your lips as you take it in your mouth.

“Swish around and spit,” he says, holding a peanut-shaped bowl to your face.

Swishing well, you spit it out as he brings the washcloth back to your face, wiping the dribble of mouthwash off of your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.

The medicine was working.

“I’m so tired…” you drift off.

As Spencer looks at the doctor, the doctor gives him a nod of approval as Spencer helps you lay back down on to the bed.

“Then get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he coos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spending the weekend in the hospital was rough. You could hardly sleep, your back was aching, and the bruises that were starting to form made your co-workers visibly wince every time they came in to the room.

It was grating on your nerves.

They kept updating you here and there, “We have him in custody,” or “We have him processed,” or “We searched his house, he’ll never see the light of day.”

You didn’t care. You just wanted to get home.

In your flustered state of vomiting on your co-workers lap, you didn’t think to tell him that mouthwash for a recovering alcoholic was a no-no.

Just like he didn’t take Tylenol, you didn’t use mouthwash.

And when the doctor came in to officially release you, you were ecstatic that you could stand on your own without the room spinning.

“Here are your discharge papers,” he says, handing you a folder, “And here is what you need to do for the next couple of weeks.”

As he rattles off things to look for and what do to if this particular asinine scenario happens, you start shifting nervously from foot to foot, eager to get out of the hospital and in to a cab.

As Spencer sits you down into a wheelchair, the team meets you downstairs, greeting you with balloons and smiles.

“There she is,” Rossi coos as he gives you a light hug.

“Lookin’ good, Y/L/N,” Prentiss says.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” Garcia says as she hugs you tight.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want them to be there, you just wanted to be alone.

Smiling as Morgan starts opening his car door, you shake your head as you stand up.

“I’m alright to get home on my own, I just want to be alone for a little while.”

As the team stares at you incredulously, Spencer steps in and suggests what a bad idea that is, and then continued to rattle off facts about concussions and relapse rates and choking on your own vomit and passing out…you know, nice and fluffy stuff.

But you didn’t hear him.

All you could think about was that red glowing sign…that sign that would take all of your problems and wash them away.

Instinctively, you stuck your hand in your pocket, feeling around for your coin that you always kept in there.

But it wasn’t there.

And Spencer had caught your reaction.

As he eyes you up and down, you raise your hand as you flag down a cab, much to the protest of the rest of the team, and as Spencer tentatively helps you in, handing you your go-bag in the process, they all wish you well as Spencer stares you right in your eyes as his hand drifts to yours, squeezing it tightly.

“Remember, if you ever need anything…” he trails off.

Watching the team fade in to the background caused you to let out a huge sigh of relief as you lean up to the driver, telling him that you are going to make a pit-stop before heading home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Spencer watches the cab slowly pull out on to the main road, his face flashes with worry as he turns to Garcia.

“We need to get back to HQ. Now,” he says.

“Why?” Hotch’s eyes widen, shaking his head incredulously.

“Because I think Y/N is about to relapse,” he says.

“How do you know?” Rossi asks, cocking his eyebrow in the air

“Because I just do!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air.

As the team eyes him suspiciously, he starts to ramble.

“Because she didn’t want any of us taking her home. Because she stuck her hand in her pocket, and then a look of panic spread across her face. I carry this thing everywhere with me,” he says, pulling out his 3 year sobriety coin as the team’s eyes widen.

He had never outright stated anything about his addiction before.

Until now.

“And I caught the look on her face when she realized she didn’t have it,” he finishes.

“She’s heading for an ABC store, and I’ve been having Garcia track her bank accounts to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid,” he adds.

As Morgan and Hotch glare at him, Morgan steps forward.

“You know if she wants to break her sobriety, she’s going to find a way,” he says.

“No, no she doesn’t,” he says, shaking his head as it dawns on him, “S-she…she wasn’t craving like this. Not in the house, and not in the hospital…not until I…”

“Not until you what?” Prentiss asks as her eyebrows furrow.

Dipping his face in to his hands, he takes a deep breath as he looks up, tears in his eyes.

“Not until I gave her mouthwash.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking out of the store, the brown bag clutched tightly in your hand, you feel a sense of relief…and guilt…wash over your body as you climb back in to the cab.

“Where to now, miss?” the driver asks.

Rattling off your address, you feel your cell phone in your pocket.

“Remember…if you ever need anything…”

His voice kept echoing in your head with every block that whipped by the car, and as you clutch the brown bag tighter and tighter, you close your eyes as a little tear escapes down your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, no,” Garcia says as your bank account pulls up on her screen.

Right there, in black letters on your electronic bank scroll, where the letters “ABC” and a charge for $47.59.

“Any luck with that coin?” Hotch says in to his phone, his brow furrowed in concern as he glances over your bank purchases.

“No, it’s not here,” Rossi says as Morgan gives the house one more comb-over, “Are you sure it’s not in her hospital bag?”

“No, I’ve been through it four times already,” J.J. says as she puts your blood-riddled clothing back in your bag, “It’s not here.”

“What are you going to do?” Garcia asks, turning around in her chair as her eyes widen.

And as Spencer shoves his hand in to his pocket, his fingers smash in to his 3 year sobriety coin, prompting an idea as he digs in his other pocket for his cell phone.

Flipping his phone open, hitting your speed dial number as the phone rings, the team stands around as Spencer says, “Hey there, Y/N, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe…”


	10. 3 Year Dream

Closing the taxi door behind you, you tip him well as you grab your things, clutching the brown paper bag close to your chest as you limp up to your doorway.

Ring ring. Ring ring.

Sighing as you dig for your phone, you see Spencer’s name crawl across your screen as you furrow your brow.

“Hello?” you ask, fumbling your keys in your hand before sticking them into your locked door.

“Hey there, Y/N, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe…” you hear him say.

“Yep, just arrived,” you say, throwing your door open as you step through, kicking your bag in with your foot as you slam your door behind you.

“T-that’s good,” you hear him stammer.

“Spencer, what is it,” you sigh as you set the brown bag on the kitchen counter and slowly pull out the Jameson.

Your fingers trembled as you ran them across the label.

“I’m just really worried about you…” he trails off.

“Well don’t be,” you snap.

Hearing a pause on the other end, you sigh as you say, “I’m sorry. It’s just been a really long case, and I just want to be alone, and none of you will fucking leave me alone.”

Gritting your teeth as you close your eyes, you take a deep breath as you remind yourself to keep your cool.

“Please forgive me,” he says weakly.

“For what?” you ask, your brow furrowing as you shake your head.

“For everything. For snapping at you when I was craving, for tiptoeing around an apology instead of just saying it. For always seeming like I invade your privacy when all I am is worried…”

Hearing him trail off, you throw open your cabinet as you eye a glass.

Putting your phone on speaker-phone, you toss it on the counter as you meander to your fridge, your mouth salivating as the sweet relief that is about to wash over your body.

Hearing a horn honk in the distance, you take your ice-filled up and look out your kitchen window, grabbing the bottle of Jameson as you unscrew the cap.

Until you saw a pair of lights turn down your street.

“Spencer…?” you ask hesitantly, “Where are you right now?”

“That’s the other thing I need to apologize for…” he trails off.

“Spencer. What have you done?” you ask, the unscrewed bottle shaking in your arms as you watch the car pull slowly in to your driveway.

“I had Garcia keep tabs on your banking records.”

Feeling the heat rise in your face, you watch as Spencer and Morgan’s faces slowly come in to view, the car lights shutting off as the sit in your driveway, eyeing you through your kitchen window.

With an open bottle of Jameson in your hands.

“Spencer…” you say through gritted teeth.

“We know where the cab driver took you after you left the hospital. We know that you are struggling. And we know…I know…that right now is the last moment in your life that you need to be alone.”

Feeling tears well in your eyes, you look down at your glass as you slowly pour the Jameson into your glass, the amber liquid gliding over the rocks of ice as your heart pounds furiously in your chest.

“Y/N!” you hear Spencer yell over your phone.

“I never asked you to come. I never asked you to keep tabs on me. I never asked you to apologize and I never asked you to show up at my damn AA meeting!” you yell, your entire body trembling as you plant your palms into the counter of your kitchen, your tears dripping into your glass of alcohol.

“All I wanted was-”

“To be left alone,” Spencer finishes.

“But you’re never going to be alone. Not with us,” Morgan chimes in.

Feeling your jaw clench as he tremors with your unshed tears, you suck in a deep breath through your nose as you wrap your hand around your glass.

“I won’t come in there unless you ask,” Spencer says.

Looking up and out your window, you see Spencer’s body, one foot hanging out of the car door, ready to plant himself on your porch.

“I will not even approach your door unless you ask,” he finishes.

Panting with rage as your face flushes deep, you pick up your phone and flick it shut, cutting the phone call as tears rumble down your face, your lips quivering as you yell out into the darkness of your home.

“God damn iiiiiiiiiiit!”

Picking up your glass, you whirl your body around and throw it behind you as it shatters against the fridge, the ice and amber liquid and glass covering the floor as you press your back up against the kitchen counter, your body curling downwards as you crouch down, your hands covering your face as you start to heave.

Hearing scurrying outside your door, you hear something fiddling with the lock before it clicks over, your door being thrown open as the strong patter of Spencer’s feet clamor across your foyer and over into your kitchen.

“It’s ok, Y/N,” he says, gliding over the broken glass and spilled liquid as you rock back and forth, your face in your hands as you hear a car crank up in your driveway.

“I’m here, and it’s going to be alright,” he murmurs in to your hair as he picks you up in his arms, your body curling in to his as he walks you out of your kitchen and over to your couch.

“It’s just me. Morgan’s going home,” he says, watching you nod as you try to choke back your tears.

“Let them fall,” he urges, his thumb rising up to brush them away as your body hiccups with sobs, your hands trembling as you lay them on your legs, palms up.

“What have I done?” you squeeze out, your voice light and high as your throat constricts with embarrassment, “Oh god, what did I do?”

“Nothing. You did nothing,” Spencer stresses as he wraps a blanket around your shoulders, sitting himself on your coffee table in front of you.

“But I…I…”

“Asked for help,” he says, wrapping his hands around yours as he squeezes them lightly, his eyes searching your puffy, red, wet face as you slowly raise your gaze to his.

“Don’t leave me…” you whisper.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, wiping a stray hair out of your face as he smiles weakly, “You’re stuck with me for at least the weekend.”

Nodding slowly as your gaze falls back to your lap, he leans in and presses a light kiss to your forehead.

“I’m going to go clean up the mess in the kitchen,” he says as he stands, releasing your hands, “And then we are going to curl up on this couch, turn on your favorite movie, and order some dinner.”

Nodding lightly as you sniffle, you wipe your nose on the blanket as he squeezes your knees, getting up and walking behind you as you hear his shoes crinkle over the broken glass.

Closing your hands as you shut your eyes, your brow furrows as your eyes fly open, looking down at the object in your hand.

“Keep that as a reminder,” you hear Spencer say behind you, “Until we can find yours.”

And as your eyes water at the sight of his three year sobriety coin, you take a deep breath and lean back into the couch, pulling it in close to your heart, as you listen to the rhythmic sweeping of your broom across the floor.


	11. A Way To Cope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for masturbation in this chapter.

You could feel Spencer whirling around you.

You could sense his sorrow, hear his guilt, and feel his commotion.

Laying down on the couch as you tug a blanket around your body, you hear him sweeping the glass into a dust-pan, the tinkling shards of your old best friend clinking in to the trash can as he slowly removes the almost-mistake from your evening.

“Where’s your mop?” he calls out.

Staring at the blank television as your eyes flutter closed, you feel the darkness whisking you away as your mouth begins to salivate again.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You could hear him crouching down beside you as the drool dripped from your mouth on to your pillow.

Without a word, you feel a pressure against your head, his hand smoothing out your frazzled hair as he leans in to you, lightly putting his forehead to yours.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his voice cracking ever so lightly.

Shaking your head, you sigh heavily as your body releases itself from its cocoon, your legs slowly stretching out as you suck in a large bout of hair.

“I stink,” you comment, crinkling your nose as you open your eyes.

Spencer’s eyes were so worried...

“Then lets get you a shower,” he urges, taking your hands as he helps you sit upright.

“You’re not helping me take a shower, Reid,” you say lowly, your eyes flickering up to his as a light smile crosses his face.

“No, but I am going to mop and order food while you are showering _yourself_ ,” he counters.

Nodding slowly as you raise to your feet, you slowly venture towards your bathroom door as you stop in your tracks, your hand swinging the bathroom door open as you call out to Spencer.

“I don’t have a mop...but there are disinfectant wipes above the fridge.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing with your eyes closed as the shower water cascades over your body, you sigh as you slowly open them up, the fog of the warm water misting your vision.

You always had an incredible fascination with water.

The churning in the pit of your stomach was too much to bear. You could still smell the alcohol under your nose, no matter how many times you scrubbed your face. You could feel it running down your throat, no matter how cotton-mouthed the inner skin of your body made you.

It was torture...the remembrance of alcohol in your life.

You wracked your memory of where your sobriety coin could be. There were days just like this where the only thing that kept you rooted in your promise to yourself was that little metal token.

And it was gone.

Feeling yourself begin to shiver as you slowly bring your hands in to view, an idea strikes your mind.

Turning around as you look up at your removable shower-head, your lips curling up as you recall all of the wonderful nights of release you had allowed yourself when starting your journey to gain your sobriety, you find your hand slowly reaching up for it as your legs begin to tremble.

Sometimes the oldies are goodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had tried to stay as quiet as you could, your feet pressed in to the shower wall as your legs parted for the tight stream of water. Your body jumped and your breath hitched, little whimpers escaping your lips as your legs began to tremble with anticipation.

Rearing your hips off of the floor as your body begins to flutter, you groan out in to the mist as your body contracts in on itself, the water stream trembling with your hands as the shower head goes crashing to the shower floor, your body writhing as stars burst out behind your eyelids.

Plummeting to the wet floor as your breath comes in staggered pants, you sigh with relief as you open your eyes, a smile crossing your lips as you slowly rear up on to your elbows.

What a nice reminder of what sobriety can give you.

You never climaxed this strongly while drunk.

Turning the shower nozzle with your foot, the water cutting off, you sigh as you peel yourself from the shower floor, grinning to yourself as you grab a towel and wrap it around your dripping wet body.

Wiping the fog off of the mirror as you take in your appearance, you grab another towel as you dry off your hair, kicking the door to your bedroom open as you slosh in, your legs still unstable from your crashing orgasm, searching your room for something to wear.

Sitting down on your bed, your clit rubbing against your comforter as your eyes flutter closed, you forget Spencer in your apartment as you dip your fingers down, turning yourself around as you thrust in to the corner of your bed, your swollen clit obtaining friction from your soft fingers as you grind against your bed.

Panting as you squeeze your eyes shut, your body building as your legs start to tremble, you hear a knock at the door as your eyes fly open.

“Y/N? Um...the food is here,” Spencer says.

Continuing to buck against the bed, your primal instincts taking over your ability to interpret the situation, you thrust your face in to your bed as your teeth clench down on your sheets, your moans and pants muffled by your bed as your core contracts once again, your legs giving out from underneath you as your knees hit the floor, your body sliding off to the side as you hit the floor with a thud, causing Spencer to throw your bedroom door open and go running to your side.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, slowly turning your head to him as a smile breaks out on your lips.

“Oh...I am wonderful,” you slur as Spencer furrows his brow.

As he bends down and sniffs your breath, his face growing confused at the absence of alcohol, you start to giggle to yourself as you slowly roll over, placing yourself on all fours as Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, helping you to your feet.

Catching your breath as your eyes flutter open, you slowly turn as you take in Spencer’s deeply flushed face, his arms still around you to keep you steady as your half-hooded eyes study his expression.

“No alcohol. Promise,” you assure him.

“Well, uh...well the pizza is...”

Thumbing behind him as you nod, you step away from him as you sit on the edge of your bed, sighing deeply as he slowly backs towards your bedroom exit.

“I’ll just...wait for you out here,” he says before closing the door quickly.

And as you flop backwards, your back hitting your bed with a force, you close your eyes and take a deep breath as you lob your head to the side, Spencer’s coin coming in to view once again on your bedside table as a light smile crosses your face.

You had found a way to deal with your cravings.


	12. Awkward Elevator

As the days bled into one another, and your method of coping had become inconvenient on your job, you had to resort to other ways of dealing with the stress.

And for that, you turned to opening up to a friend.

Now it is well known that Penelope cannot keep a secret for anything...

If it involved someone else on the team.

If you are just talking to her about your needs, and wants, and desires...she is a shut vault.

So you and Garcia had had many phone talks while out on cases, and she had a way of calming you that you didn’t find in anyone else.

You had confided to her about everything: the past you never told at your sobriety meeting, the full story of the man that wanted you on that case, your ways of fulfilling your cravings when you were at home...

You even told her about your awkward intrusion with Spencer.

That night went just about as well as you could expect. You spent it awkwardly on the couch, eating pizza, grimacing every time your fingers got to your nose because you could smell yourself on you...and you were convinced that he could smell it as well.

Though you knew that was nasally impossible, but it still didn’t keep you from squirming.

And squirming turned to friction.

And before you knew it, you were once again red in the face as you sunk back into the couch with embarrassment.

Spencer chewed quick, swallowed hard, picked up his things without another word exchanged between the two of you, and had left without a goodbye.

Only for Rossi to show up moments later.

You remember crying yourself to sleep that night.

You had told Garcia that you never meant to make things weird. You didn’t intend on Spencer walking in on you masturbating against your bed. You never intended to make him feel unwelcome or weird. You just...

Took an opportunity.

And in your mind, that was better than removing the sink pipes to tip them up and guzzle what was left of the alcohol in your drain.

And Garcia agreed.

Until she spilled the proverbial beans.

“But you can’t really help much if he has feelings for you.”

Wait...what did she say?

“Garcia?”

“Uh oh...” she trails off.

“Garcia? Talk to me. What was that you just said?” you implore.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing. Listen, Morgan’s calling. I think something has happened with the case.”

“Garcia, wa-!”

But she had hung up the phone call.

And as you sat there in your work clothes, waiting for the knock at the door from Hotch to wake you up, the words that Garcia had uttered keep reeling through your mind.

“...if he has feelings for you...”

Did he?

Was that why he was so flustered?

That’s not possible. You weren’t his type. You weren’t overly intelligent or tall or thin or even nice.  
You were a snarky, large, short, stupid recovering alcoholic who always seems to mess up the best things in life.

Sighing as the knock comes at your door, you undo the chain as you swing the door open, only to be greeted by Spencer.

The two of you hadn’t spoken in two weeks. Not since that night where he so willingly traded places with Rossi.

“There’s been a development,” he says as he thumbs behind him.

Nodding as you reach over and grab your jacket, you check for your phone, wallet, and key-card before stepping out into the hallway.

“You were already dressed?” Spencer asks.

“Uh...yeah. I just...didn’t change when we got in, that’s all. Collapsed right on the bed,” you rebuttal.

“But that’s a different outfit,” he points out.

Stopping in your tracks as you turn to him, you furrow your brow as you ask, “You pay attention to what I wear?”

“Well, I pay attention to everything,” he says.

Nodding as your hand reaches out for the elevator button, you press it as your eyes rip from Spencer’s face as your heart-rate picks up.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he says as the elevator door dings.

“Me, too,” you say as the two of you step in.

As the doors to the elevator close, you see Spencer reach out for the emergency stop switch, flipping it up as the elevator comes to a screeching halt.

“Spencer...what...? We have a case!” you screech.

“It can wait for a second,” he says as he takes your shoulders and turns your body towards his.

“That night wasn’t your fault,” he says.

Blinking at him as your mind reels, your jaw sets itself as you speak through gritted teeth.

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, Spencer.”

Sighing as he drops his hands, his eyes search yours with desperation as you back up, feeling your back land flat against the elevator wall.

“When I left. It wasn’t...it wasn’t right. I should’ve stayed, and I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to search his body.

“Spencer. You felt awkward. You had just walked in on my collapsing to my knees after a fairly furious self-pleasuring session. Had you not walked out, I probably would’ve asked you to join!”

Throwing your hands in the air as you wring your fingers through your hair, you sigh as you dip your gaze.

“I was in a rough place that night, and things went topsy-turvy, and I’m sorry that you got caught up in the middle of it. But don’t worry. I have ways that I am coping that aren’t so...scandalous...when I am around others.”

Watching him nod, you couldn’t help but feel he wanted the conversation to continue.

“You look like you have something to say,” you add.

“I do,” Spencer says.

“Ok.”

As silence permeates the elevator, your phone begins to vibrate.

Pulling it out as you flip it open, you read the message from Hotch telling you to meet him at the police station, and to bring Reid if you have seen him.

“We have to go,” you say through your sigh as you reach your hand up for the elevator switch.

“Could we maybe...” he trails off as he grabs your hand mid-air, “...maybe talk about what else it is I have to say over coffee?”

“Now you know I’m a slut for coffee, Dr. Reid,” you rebuttal mockingly, trying to get him to smile, or chuckle, or smirk.

Or anything that wasn’t this.

You weren’t good with this.  
“Coffee it is,” he says with a light smile as the weight of the conversation quickly lifts.

And as Spencer’s hand reaches up to trigger the motion of the elevator, you find your head turning in his direction as your eyes rake over his frame.

You were going to need to call Garcia soon.


	13. Finally

After multiple conversations with Garcia, who essentially begged you to tell Spencer how you felt, the team had landed back in DC, in the middle of the afternoon, ragged and exhausted from the case they had just closed.

Not an ideal ending, but it was done.

Sighing as you lob yourself down the airplane steps, you feel a set of fingertips close around your wrist as your tired gaze slowly pans over to your left.

“Hey there,” you say, catching Spencer’s glazed-over stare as he smiles weakly.

“I could use that coffee,” he says.

“Now? Y-…you want to do this now?” you exclaim breathlessly.

“I’m scared that if I don’t, I never will,” he says, his eyes imploring yours as you feel his grip tighten.

Sighing heavily as you close your eyes, your head shaking lightly from side to side as you bend down and grab your bag, you usher in front of you over towards your car as you reach into your bag and hand him your keys.

“Lead the way,” you sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting at a corner table in the dimly lit coffee shop, your coffees at your lips as the two of you catch glances of each other, you finally drop the caffeinated goodness from your lips as you dart your tongue out, catching a rouge droplet as your body wills itself to find the energy for this conversation.

“Do you want to start? Or should I?” you ask, your gaze panning up to his.

Watching him as he slowly sets his coffee down, you catch his hands trembling as he grasps his cup harder than he should.

“If you aren’t careful, that lid is gonna-”

Watching the lid pop off of the cup, spewing droplets of coffee as it lobs off to the side, hitting the wall as he cascades to the ground, you bring your hand to your mouth as you stifle a giggle.

“…pop off,” you finish your statement.

As a chuckle rises from Spencer’s throat, the two of you sit there and giggle over the event, you both reaching down for the lid as your fingertips graze his.

“Oh. Sorry,” you say, jerking your hand back as you sit up quickly in your chair.

“I want to ask you something…you know, before I make my statement,” he says.

“Alright,” you acknowledge, your eyes becoming nervous and hesitant as you bring your coffee back to your lips, focusing intently on the lid as you hear him speak.

“In the elevator, you said that had I not left, you would have asked me to join,” he states.

Coughing as a spittle of coffee flies down your chin, you bring your hand up to wipe it away just before it drips itself onto your white shirt.

“Uh…say what?” you croak.

“You said that-”

“I know what I said,” you say, holding your hand up as you smirk, your cheeks flushing themselves with embarrassment.

“Was that a figure of speech?” he asks.

Bringing your gaze back up to him, his eyes staring you down intently, you take in a shaky breath as you let out a heavy sigh.

“No,” you whisper, your eyes darting around the table as you lower your gaze.

After a few seconds of thick, awkward, uncomfortable silence, you close your eyes as you swallow hard, your fingers trembling as you settle your hands in your lap.

“I love you,” Spencer spits out.

Feeling your eyes fly open, your gaze shoots up to his, his eyebrows floating mid-air on his face as his jaw clenches itself shut.

“You what?” you ask breathlessly, swearing your ears had betrayed you.

Staring at each other for what seemed like hours, you lurch out of your chair and scoot it towards Spencer, plopping back down into it with a crash as you scurry to take his hand in between yours.

“What did you say?” you ask, cocking your head towards him as your eyes glare into his shoulder, your ear positioned perfectly up to his face.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers before bringing his lips to your ear and kissing it lightly.

Closing your eyes as you feel a shiver work its way down your spine, you feel your entire body relax as it plummets onto his shoulder, tears of relief working their way out of your eyes and onto the fabric covering his beautiful body.

“Oh, Spencer,” you choke out, his arms flying around your waist and pulling you close.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, his hand raising to pet your hair down as you smile against his body.

“Not a bad cry,” you murmur as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, the legs of yours and his chairs now intermingling as the two of you try to get as close as is appropriate for a public coffee shop.

“I was petrified that night,” he starts as he continues to hold you, “you were in such a bad place, and I had found you in such a bad condition, and we had gone through such a bad case…and I figured that piling all of this onto what you had already endured was too much, and way too complicated, for one night.”

Finally rearing back as you quickly wipe your face off with the palms of your hands, you sit back in your chair as you let out a half-sigh-half-laugh.

“I used to hate you, you know,” you say, eyeing him playfully as you cock an eyebrow up onto your forehead.

“Well I used to be worth hating,” he says as a smirk plays on his lips.

“What will you do about the popping of my joints?” you ask as you lean forward, your elbow resting on the coffee table as you prop your head against your hand.

“Not an issue unless I’m craving,” he says.

“In which case, I can use it to figure out when you’re struggling.”

Booping him playfully on the nose with your finger, your expression slowly falls as the realization of both of your addictions hits you in the face.

“You know…there might be times where we both struggle…” you linger off.

“I know,” he says as the smirk playing on his face slowly slides off.

“What will we do then?” you ask, fear crossing your eyes as you dart your gaze back to his.

“Well…we can always lean on each other, no matter what,” he starts, “…but we will always have these.”

Pulling out a sobriety coin from his pocket, you furrow your brow as your gaze lingers in his hand.

“But yours is still…”

“I know” he says as he grabs your hand, placing your one year coin in your palm before curling your fingers delicately over it.

“…which means I’ll be needing mine back,” he whispers, his forehead slowly dipping down onto yours as your gaze stays locked onto your hand, your tears of shock and joy dripping down into your lap.

“Where did you-?”

“Morgan and Rossi went back to the crime scene that night,” he starts as his hand works its way up your arm, his large palm splaying across the side of your neck and he holds your head steady against his, “and they found the trash can out back where the unsub had throw your old clothes away.”

Feeling your lip begin to quiver as you close your eyes, you draw a ragged breath as Spencer kisses your forehead.

“Breathe…” Spencer coos as your body begins to shake.

“This coin…i-i-it’s…”

“I know,” he soothes, his finger crooking under your chin as he tilts your watery gaze up to his, “I know.”

Smiling lightly at him as you bring your closed fist to your heart, you hold your coin close to your chest as you close your eyes, sighing as you lean back into your chair.

“So…what do we do now?” you ask as you open your eyes again, watching Spencer as he crosses his arms and leans back as well.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like I could sleep the next week away,” he comments.

“God…me, too,” you say as you let out a gigantic yawn, your mouth prying itself open as another set of tears is elicited.

“Then why don’t we go do that?” he asks.

Searching his face as you watch his lips tick lightly up into a grin, you snicker and shake your head as you shuffle quickly in your chair.

“I mean…your place is close,” you state.

“Mhmmm,” Spencer draws out.

“And it is unsafe to drive when you are this tired,” you reason.

“It is…” he muses as he leans forward and puts his hands on your knees.

“And I suppose I already have a change of clothes,” you retort as your eyes flicker down towards your go-bag.

“That you do,” Spencer smiles.

And as a smile breaks out across your face, you find your hands migrating to his as your fingers splay against the back of his hands, your coin sitting situated between the palm of your left hand and back of his right, as you lean into his body, your head tilting up as your lips flutter against one another’s, causing Spencer’s breath to catch in his throat.

“Then take me to bed,” you whisper.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning.

“Oh, Spencer...”

Feeling his lips on the inside of your thigh was driving you mad. Your wrists fought against the restraints as your legs trembled from anticipation, his strong arms holding them apart as your entire body is spread for him to see.

“Crotchless panties on our wedding day, Mrs. Reid?” he smirks as he tisks, “tsk tsk tsk...such a naughty woman.”

Feeling his tongue trace the dollop of fat at the dip of your thigh, you kick your leg out as you groan, your body shifting to try and meet his tongue with your lower lips.

“And so impatient,’ he coos, his devilish eyes flickering up at you as you huff.

“Well, it was your idea to take an entire month off from sex before our special day,” you say through gritted teeth.

“I told you I would make it worth your while,” Spencer muses innocently.

“Please...” you whine.

Feeling him shift between your legs, Spencer finally presses his lips to your dripping ones, your back arching as you try to press yourself deeper onto his face.

“Patience,” he says, drawing his face back as you kick your legs out.

“Spencer!” you yell into the room.

“Oh, I’ll make you scream,” he mutters, dipping his tongue between you, lapping at your juices as they spew onto the bed.

“Mmmmm,” he moans, the sounds vibrating your core as you squirm underneath him, his tongue flattening against your clit as you draw your legs up to your hips, your heels resting on his back.

“Oh...oh please,” you beg, your hips bucking against him as his hands rise to press against your stomach, holding your body in place as your arms rip at the restraints.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper desperately, your wrists yanking at the restraints as you feel your core begin to jump.

“Oh, god...Spencer...oh, god, yes...right there...right there...right there...”

And then, he pulled away.

“No! No!” you yelp, bucking your hips at him as you feel him crawl back up your body, your chest and face flushed with your impending orgasm.

“No fun in making it worth your while...”

Feeling him slowly slide into you, his hands intertwined with yours as you both groan in response, he dips his lips to your ear as he whispers, “...if you can’t hold out.”

Whimpering as he begins to slowly pump, your hips raise to meet his every stroke as your eyes flutter open, catching his beautiful hazel eyes as your jaw slowly begins to unhinge.

Feeling Spencer let go of your hands, his fingertips tracing downyour arms, coming down to cup your breasts, he brings one of your nipples to his mouth as he sucks it between his teeth, your back arching to meet his face as he holds himself steady above you, keeping time with the beating of your heart as he begins to pant.

“I love you...I love you so much,” he whispers.

You knew what that meant.

Bucking your hips harder up to him, his thrusting growing ragged as you whimper for any release, you feel him twitch inside of you, his seed coating your walls as your jaw begins to tremble, his body slowly collapsing onto yours as he peppers kisses into your neck.

“I love resting inside of you,” he murmurs against your skin.

Panting as you feel his hand travel up your torso, he slowly undoes both of your wrist restraints, your arms collapsing at your sides as they begin to tingle.

And then, out of nowhere, you feel yourself being toppled over, your legs straddling Spencer’s newly rising dick as he situates your hips on top of his, his pelvis grinding into you as his length grows inside of you once again.

Grabbing the headboard as you look down upon your husband, his eyes clamped shut and his teeth gritted, you slowly rock your hips, his chest flushing quickly as you begin bouncing your ass on top of him, your breasts flailing against your body as a hand reaches up and cups your right one.

“Oh, god, Y/N,” he moans, his eyes fluttering open and closed as you begin to bounce harder, your hands releasing the headboard and plummeting to his body, yourbreasts bouncing in his face.

“Oh...fuck,” he bites, his legs growing taut as your hands find leverage against his chest.

“Oh, Spencer...Spencer...yeeeeeees,” you moan, throwing your head back.

You could feel your impending, and well-deserved, orgasm wafting back to the surface.

But like a cat out of dodge, Spencer flips you over, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he begins to pound into you, your fingertips barring into his thighs as he throws his head back, letting out a primal groan as he coats your insides for the second time that night, leaving you breathless...

...and orgasm-less.

“No....no, no, no,” you breathe, shaking your head side to side as you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes.

Feeling Spencer’s panting breath on the side of your neck, you turn your face to his as he kisses your lips lightly, a smile cresting his cheeks as he murmurs, “A house full of kids...right?”

Feeling your lips tremble, a tear escaping the side of your eye and rolling across your face, you open your eyes to take in the sparkling midnight sea that was the eyes of your husband, his smile broad and beautiful as you nod your head.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Good,” he says, grasping at your waist and flipping you over, a yelp escaping your lips as he pulls your hips up, his throbbing length rubbing the inside of your leg as he bends down to your ear, nibbling it lightly before whispering, “Open wide.”

Slamming into you, your head tossing itself off to the side as your arms lurch out to grasp the sheets around you, you let out a scream as Spencer grabs your hair, his thrusts bucking you hard against the bed as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

“Ooooooh, yeees...yes, Spencer. Yes...oh, goooood yes...”

And all you heard was Spencer repeating your name, like a chant or a prayer, his body dropping down onto your back as his balls begin to smack your clit, causing your legs to begin to shake.

“Y/N...Y/N...Y/N...oooooh, Y/N...”

And then you heard it.

“I love you...I love you so much. So, so much.”

And like clockwork, your beautiful, sweating husband’s thrusts become ragged, your body limp like a ragdoll as you moan and groan into your pillow, your eyes fluttering closed as your core begins to churn.

You knew he wasn’t going to let you off this easy.

Feeling him grunt, his body stiffening as he, for the third time that night, pours himself into you, his teeth biting into your shoulder as your body begins to shudder, you feel him wrap his arms around your waist as your legs buckle, his dick flying out of you for the first time that night as your body collapses to the floor, your ass still in the air as his juices overflow your pulsing, frustrated, swollen cavers and running down your leg.

The pattern repeated itself well into the early morning hours, your body aching from the lack of release as Spencer...somehow...found a way to continue to pump himself into you, his body quivering from all the work as you laid there, your mouth open and your throat dry, from screaming out his name as the two of you soak the sheets with your various bodily fluids.

He wanted you in every position you could muster: hanging off of the bed, straddling him in the chair, riding him backwards so he could watch your ass bounce, missionary style so he could look into your eyes, up against the wall with the crooks of your legs around his arms so he could fold you in half and shake the pictures, doggy style so he could pound your body without hurting your aching muscles.

And still...absolutely no orgasm for you.

After determining that the bed was no longer suited to sleep on, Spencer grabs the pillows and pulls them down onto the floor, followed by the comforter of the king size bed as you come down from your high from the latest debacle of acquiring rug-burn on your back as Spencer had sweetly peppered your neck with kisses.

And as he propped a pillow up under your head, all you could do was sob.

You were an absolute mess: tear-stained cheeks, a permanently flushed chest, his dried up juices in various dribbles down your legs, your twitching muscles causing involutary jumps as your hoarse voice managed to pop out even the breathiest of squeaks

And still, Spencer tucked your hair behind your ear, his haggard and trembling body gazing upon you lovingly as you laid on the hotel floor of your wedding night, his lips lightly peppering your face as the tears begin to waft once again down your face, your entrance throbbing with the sound beating it had taken over the past few hours.

And then...his lips traveled to your neck.

And then? To your breasts.

...and then?

Oh, god...and then.

Feeling his tongue lap at your swollen clit, your poor, throbbing mound bulging out of its hood, you arch your back into the air as you hind the strength to throw your hands into Spencer’s hair, pulling and tugging him closer as his mouth draws you in, rolling your clit around as your core beings to burn.

“Yes,” you squeak out, tears rolling down your face, “yes...yes...yes...YES!”

And as Spencer wraps his arms around your legs, pulling you even closer to him as he flattens his tongue out above your core, you feel your body convulse with pleasure, the sensation rocking you to your core as you shake and tremble, your words disintegrating into incoherent babbles as you arch your chest into the air.

And then, he flicked your clit again.

And again.

And even deeper again.

And it threw you over another precipice, your body shaking underneath him as he smiles into your pussy, his tongue lightly flicking you around as you bang your fists into the floor, your throat crying out to the ceiling before completely fizzling out, leaving you with nothing but the sound of air rushing between your vocal cords as your body collapses back onto the floor, your chest heaving and your body trembling as Spencer withdraws his tongue.

But it wasn’t for long.

Because soon he drew you once again into his mouth, raking his teeth over you as you dug your heels into the carpet, your arms flying from his hair out to the side as he flattens his tongue against you, grinding his face into yours as your body grows taut, your legs beginning to cramp with every rocking tremor that left your body electrocuted.

But you didn’t care.

Because, in that moment, with your glorious rolling orgasms wracking your body by the tongue of your beloved, you find your vision tunneling as you collapse hard onto the floor, your vision going dark as your head lobs off to the side.

And as Spencer trails quick kisses back up your body, his lips encompassing yours as he ever so lightly feels you reciprocate the reaction, he pulls the covers up and over both of you as he wraps his arms around your limp body.

“We’ll take a hot bath when we wake up to loosen the aches,” he murmurs into your ear, kissing it lightly before nestling down beside you.

“I adore you, Y/N,” he says, kissing your shoulder before fluttering his eyes closed.

And all you could do was grunt.


End file.
